


Shance Week 2016

by ThereWillBeCubes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood, M/M, Violence, Yandere, yandere shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 12:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8624149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereWillBeCubes/pseuds/ThereWillBeCubes
Summary: The Prompts I managed to finish for Shance week this year1: Day 1: Pining/Confession2: Day 2: Hero/Villain3: Day 4: AU





	1. Pining/Confession

**Author's Note:**

> I knew I wanted some yandere for this prompt but it actually took about 4-5 attempts before I finished this 
> 
> edit: I have no idea how the last part of the first fic isn't there but I'm going to say sheer incompetence on my part. I've finally added it on
> 
> warnings: graphic violence, blood

-

Students whispered as they clustered in the halls, a muted rumble of horror spreading through them, noxiously seeping into Lance’s veins. The school was aswarm with police, the entire second floor closed off as a crime scene.

He sat in the nurse’s office, extremities numb with what the nurse told him was shock, voice gentle as she pushed him to lie down. He didn’t want to lie down, didn’t want to be so… vulnerable.

There were tissues by his chair, placed there by a sympathetic teacher, but he hadn’t cried. He hardly knew the other student; they might’ve talked in class, but he was just another face, not a friend, but friendly…

His legs shook, and his breathing hitched and jumped, trying not to think of that face, not to remember, smile and eyes his way, replaced with black holes that bled at the edges, down his smiling face, dark red seeping into his white school shirt.

There was a police officer with him; did they think he did it? God, it only took one look at the scene inside the classroom and he was scarred for life.

Lance wants to bury it as deeply as possible, but no one lets him. He’s asked to ‘tell them what happened’ over and over.

How many times can he say he arrived early, opened the classroom door, and saw his former classmate slumped at his desk, empty empty empty face staring towards the door, blood everywhere, and his own name, scrawled in it, over and over-

_Lance Lance Lance Lance Lance Lance Lance Lance Lance Lance Lance_

_He’s Mine_

Lance’s voice grows hoarse with the dread that curls in his stomach, knowing and waiting, because-

_-there are currently no leads-_

_-we are questioning possible suspects-_

_-forensics have so far been unable to find concrete clues-_

Whoever it was, they were still out there, and he…

“Lance?”

A hand on his shoulder, squeezing, comforting. He looks up, eyes feeling weighty and slow, to see his friends around him, all with concern in their eyes.

They still had them, and Lance was relieved, but the dread pressed coldly into his gut, and all he could do was sob in fear.

Shiro’s hand squeezes, and he crouches to get on Lance’s eye level. Behind him are Lance’s family, missing posters, police officers… he was at… the station?

Shiro’s eyes are dark, they’re black, and Lance is oddly soothed.

“It’s okay,” Shiro says softly, “you’re okay.”

He helps Lance stand, and immediately he’s encased in warmth, Hunk’s familiar arms able to wrap around him and Shiro, Pidge wriggling in, Matt and Keith’s voices murmuring on the edges. He presses his head to Shiro’s shoulder.

The warning is in his throat, he wants to beg them to get away, to let go, but he doesn’t want to give this up, this warmth.

Lance can’t go back to school, not for awhile. He spends weeks talking to investigators, then therapists that try to pick apart his nightmares, but he can’t give voice to the worst. Of finding his friends…

It’s too awful.

They’d found a letter in the victim’s desk. To Lance. A confession.  

It was now evidence, possible motive. Someone _liking_ him was motive for murder.

_He’s Mine_

“Lance, sweetheart?”

He’s jerked out of his reverie, mother’s voice soft and careful.

She’s standing in his doorway, orange in the gloom of his drawn curtains. They are all quiet with him, even his little siblings. It makes him wonder if he looks as fragile as he feels.

“Shiro’s here, dear. Have you packed some things?”

“Huh?” Lance mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He always felt exhausted. Shiro’s head appears over his mother’s, grinning.

“Take it you didn’t get my text?”

Lance groans, reaching for his phone on the bed-stand.

 

Shiro [17:32] want to stay over tonight? Watch some movies? :)

Shiro [17:40] tried calling, let me know, I’ll pick you up

Shiro [17:52] your mom said yes

Shiro [18:50] I’m here

 

Lance is surprised he has be energy to feel embarrassed, but a warm flush creeps up his neck as his mom starts fussing, packing clothes for him.

The surprise of it carries him out the door and into Shiro’s car with little resistance.

He feels like he should ask if anyone else will be there, but there’s something about the still air and Shiro’s unreadable expression that answers for him, every so often glancing at him, but making no attempt to fill the silence.

His dread shifts slightly.

Shiro’s is quiet. His parents were in Japan, leaving him all alone in the too-big house. It makes Lance’s skin crawl, knowing the rest of the rooms were dark and empty. He follows Shiro into his bedroom. He’s only been in here with the others, and it feels like the rest of the house, simply too large and shadowed. The light is low, sun long set and the single lamp set on dim.

He expects to just be leaving his bag here, go to the living room, but Shiro steers him to sit on the bed, and sinks down beside him. Lance stares blankly at the desk and bookshelves, and with nothing to distract him, familiar fear and worry worm their way into his heart.

Everything in the room was black and white. All it needed was some red to match the palette in his head.

A tentative hand touches the small of his back, reminding him he wasn’t alone.

“How are you feeling?” Shiro asks gently, thumb moving up and down in grounding strokes. Lance bites his lip.

Shiro scoots closer, so his arm can wrap around his back in a side-hug.

“We’ve missed you at school,” Shiro says, and a shudder runs through Lance at the mere mention.

“Lance-” Shiro starts, sounding concerned, but his terror breaks over, and Lance hunches, sobbing into his hands.

“Lance,” he breathes, arms wrapping around him in a full, protective hug, “tell me what’s wrong.”

Lance hiccups and shakes, leaning into the embrace. His heart flutters, improbably, as he remembers his old daydreams, quite like this, just the two of them. Not so sombre, with the spectre of death hanging over them both.

The feeling, like everything else, is soured.

“I…I keep…. Seeing them all…”

Shiro pulls him closer, fingers caressing his nape.

“Seeing them all…?”

“D-dead… like… him…”

“Like River?”

Was that his name? Lance didn’t remember.

“Like him, w-with their eyes, g-gone,” he whispers, shaking, and Shiro begins rubbing slow circles into his back.

“They won’t, Lance, they’re going to be okay.”

Lance sobs.

“Y-you c-can’t know, Shiro, what if they-? What if they’re hurt? What if you’re hurt..?”

“I don’t want to hurt them, Lance. They aren’t in the way.”

Lance becomes aware of the tightness of Shiro’s grip, how alone they were, how distant from anyone else. He can’t speak. Shiro tilts Lance’s chin, softly smiling.

“There’s no need to worry anymore, Lance,” he murmurs, “I’ve got you.”

His thumb sweeps along Lance’s bottom lip, tugging it down.

“And our friends make you happy, don’t they?” he continues, face gentle and affectionate, “but they don’t overstep. Unlike _him.”_

His voice is so venomous that Lance shivers, looks away.

“Sorry, there’s no need to bring up that trash anymore, is there? He’s gone.”

His fingers stroke Lance’s trembling cheek, “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m not going to hurt our friends.”

A quick kiss, and Shiro’s voice becomes breathless.

“Ah, I couldn’t… help myself,” he croons, “you’re just so… beautiful… and we’re finally… alone.”

Lance lets himself be coaxed into lying down, completely at Shiro’s mercy as he’s caged in by powerful arms and a broad chest. He easily had the strength to pull it off. His eyes don’t bleed at the edges, but they’re so dark, full of animalistic hunger, hands warm as they cradle his face.

“No more need to be frightened, Lance. It’s only me.”


	2. Hero/Villain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zombie AU!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should've updated this collection awhile ago but I didn't due to... uhh I'm gonna say part lazy, part inability to look at my own writing

Dust motes swirl in the milky morning sun, poking through the gap in the curtains, and a thought crosses his still half-asleep brain.

_Have I been breathing that in my entire life…? Where does it all come from…?_

There’s the rattle of breath nearby, sickly and weak. Lance rubs his eyes, looking over to the door to see Shiro staring at him.

Shiro’s eyes were once a deep, rich black, the space between the stars at night. Now they were a filmy grey, turned milky by the infection that had killed him, and refused to let him die.

He gurgles lightly, and Lance yawns and stretches, still feeling drowsy.

“Morning, Shiro.”

Shiro seems to yawn, hollowing out his cheeks in imitation of a smile.

No, it wasn’t imitation, it was a smile. It just… looked different.

He was stuck in a strange limbo. Despite the fact Shiro seemed to retain much of himself, and Lance guessed this was the case with other infected, they had yet to find one that didn’t attack the moment they saw him.

But, as he quickly realised, if he wanted Shiro to not die a ‘second’ time, other humans were out of the question, too. Sure, those encounters were quite rare, and often short-lived, but that same terror creeped up inside him whenever Shiro was forced to hide, while Lance would fill in the quiet sounds of his breathing with noise.

He had to accept he was the only one that would hold onto the belief that Shiro was still alive, and he’d already been through the heartbreak of staying true to it.

Lance sits up, rolling his head and shoulders, leaning against the wall and staring at the strips of light patterning his sleeping bag.

“Hey, do you know where dust comes from?” he asks, trying to catch it in his fingers, but whenever he presses them together, the disturbance in the air sends them whirling and fluttering in invisible currents of his creation.

Shiro tilts his head, and makes a soft sound, almost a sighing sound.

“Too bad we don’t have google…”  Lance murmurs, lowering his fingers, “don’t think we’d find it in a library book.”

Shiro blinks slowly, sitting up straighter, and lets out a higher note. With a forceful push, he shuts the door with his left hand, and shuffles over to sit next to him.

His right arm rises; it ends in a scarred stump, a failed… attempt-

_-he remembers freshly cut, jaggedly severed above the elbow with the sharpest weapon they had, Keith’s knife-_

“Shiro…” Lance says softly, looking at his outstretched arms.

_-and Keith had been the only one determined enough to see it through, to be the one to do it. He could only help Hunk hold a thrashing Shiro down while Pidge steadied the arm, and Keith had scored a line above Shiro’s elbow-_

Lance leans into the proffered hug, wrapping his arms carefully around Shiro, listening to his choked breathing. His hand circles Shiro’s back, over the worn black vest. He squeezes, chest jerking with dry sobs-

_-the right forearm was a mess, chunks torn away, and Shiro’s face had been so pale as what he’d sacrificed sunk in-_

“I’m sorry, Shiro, I’m sorry we couldn’t help you,” Lance whispers, like he does most days; usually in the evenings, when the poisons creep up and he’s woken with Shiro worriedly tapping his chest and face to stop his-

_-screaming. Shiro had screamed, and it had been so viscerally terrifying, echoing in the small room, and Pidge had to stuff something in his mouth to avoid attracting any more zombies, but Lance was grateful for the fact he never heard it again-_

Shiro presses his cheek to Lance’s, breathing slowing. He copies Lance’s action, left hand slowly moving up and down, trying to comfort him. Lance draws back to hold his face, staring into his pale eyes. The tuft that skimmed Shiro’s brows had turned white, bleaching tendrils into his scalp. Lance is scared to stroke it with anything heavier than feather light touches, for fear of tearing it out.

Lance kisses the bridge of his nose, over the mottled scar he’d received, from another survivor, no less, following it onto his right cheek. Shiro makes a contented, soft rattling as he gently presses their lips together; Shiro’s are cold, and strangely stiff, but he doesn’t care. It eases them both.

Shiro’s eyes lid as they look at each other, and Lance offers him a little smile. Shiro slowly raises his hand, clumsily putting it on Lance’s cheek. He leans into it, pressing it to his face with a gentle hand-

_-and it hadn’t worked. After it all, the blood and the tears and the sheer horror, it hadn’t worked, Shiro slowly going pale, stiff, his movements clumsy and body changing as he succumbed-_

“Aaanss,” Shiro breathed, the hiss pronounced with the effort it took him to make, “Aansss.”

_-and he had his heart broken twice. The first when Shiro had died-_

“I love you,” Lance says softly, “I’ll always love you.”

_-the second when he **didn’t,** and Lance knew he was still there, he was still Shiro._

_But no one else saw him. None of them had believed it. Not even Keith._

“Aaanssse,” a little stronger, Shiro brushing at his skin with stiff fingers. Face relaxed, almost sad.

“I’ll never leave you behind, I swear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :)


	3. AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an omegaverse royalty AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also more Shiro being a yandere

 

War or a wedding. The choice was obvious.

Yes, he supposed it _was_ overkill to threaten the Chavez royal family with the installation of a puppet monarch should they not acquiesce to his demands. However, all other offers had failed, and once news reached him that his intended was to be married off to some soft Garrett prince, well. His need was urgent.

Even then, they had been willing to stand firm against the match, (he’d never met a Chavez unwilling to protect their family to the death, something he couldn’t help but admire,) but Lance, dear Lance, had made the decision.

Shiro hasn’t seen him since that day, but he can’t forget the smooth of his dusky skin under his fingers, rippling and warm as he scent marked his future mate, and Lance’s scent, the fresh smell of rain before a storm.

Lance had been docile, submissive, but Shiro could smell the anger in his pheromones, sour and sharp.

He’d been silent when Shiro had kissed his fingers, uncharacteristically so, no longer the small, irreverent prince that would rather be exploring, or following him around with stars in his eyes, endlessly asking questions.

Their courtship was brief, mostly a formality, while the city prepared for their first royal wedding in three decades. Shiro did feel a moue of regret that it could not have been a full-blown courting; being able to impress on his omega-to-be that yes, he was the best match for him. But it’s easily forgotten in the whirlwind of preparations; the cleaning of the castle, an early round of executions and whippings for the prisoners clogging up the cells, flower arrangements and fittings for the ceremony.

The King had all but rolled his eyes when he learned of what Shiro had done, sighing, making the concession that he did raise him such; ruthlessness, strength, patience. And Shiro had _been_ patient. It had been two years since Lance was officially presented as an omega, two years of being denied his rightful claim.

Having Lance in the castle, and not being able to go anywhere near him, was close to torture. The Chavez entourage arrived a week before the ceremony, and Shiro could barely sleep, knowing somewhere near, his beloved slept, without him.

Six restless nights, and the day was upon him.

White and blue adorned every fixture and surface; the white was traditional, and the blues… well. None of them could quite match the real thing.

He only cared about the bonding ceremony, and part of him wished they could just skip all the fanfare and go straight to it.

But the other part wanted to lavish his Lance with the wedding; he wouldn’t take that away in his impatience.

The sun shone through the great windows of the throne room, and Shiro took his place at the head, he and the King waiting by the black seat. The guests, in their hundreds, their thousands, filled the vast room, watched closely by the  guards. Each one had explicit orders to immediately remove any threats to Lance or the ceremony. The royals have the front row seats; Lance’s extended family, the various earls and dukes of his own lands, even the small group of Kogane’s that had elected to make the trip.

There’s a long strip that runs the length of the hall, royal purple strewn with petals, all the way to the huge doors that currently stand closed.

The guests go quiet as the band strikes up, doors opening to reveal two figures; King Chavez, and by his side, Lance, resplendent in his wedding gown, face obscured by a veil. He clasps a cascading bouquet of flowers, and for a moment Shiro is breathless as they start to walk towards him.

It’s slow, deliberately in time with the music, two of Lance’s omega siblings holding the train as he walks, and Shiro takes deep, deliberate breaths. Lance’s head hangs slightly, but he doesn’t pause or stumble, blessedly reaching the foot of the dais, leaning on his father’s arm as he climbs the shallow steps.

Shiro could smell the tang of salt before Lance had stopped in front of him, head still bent, and the expression on Lance’s father’s face told him that he wasn’t the only one. His heart shudders when he lifts the veil, meeting Lance’s startlingly blue eyes, rimmed with pink. His love makes not a sound as tears continue to stream down his face.

Shiro reaches out, thumbs brushing Lance’s cheeks in an attempt to stem the flow, chest tightening. Lance lowers his gaze, lips trembling. Shiro grasps his hands, and they’re trembling.

He squeezes, comfortingly, but they twitch in his grip.

No tears could hide how beautiful his omega looked; white lace covering his shoulders and brushing his collarbones, sewn with tiny pearls that shone in the light, his soft brown hair left in its natural wavy state, set with a small circlet of silver and sapphires. And his face, his _face;_ this was the face he wanted to see every morning, every evening, _every moment,_ for the rest of his life.

Lance blinks tears out of his eyes as the King speaks, his low, gravelly voice commanding everyone’s attention with it’s absolute authority. He talks of the bond between alpha and omega, the union of two kingdoms, of family and duty. Lance’s hands stop shaking.

Lance looks him in the eyes when asked if he will accept this bond, through hardship, through health, pledge loyalty to Shiro and Shiro alone.

“I do,” Lance whispers.

The words ring in Shiro’s ears.

“-you, my son, pledge to love and protect this omega, until death?”

“Always.”

The rings are slipped onto their fingers, but in Shiro’s eyes, it’s but a token. His eyes are drawn to Lance’s smooth, unblemished neck, and the hunger in his belly roars with impatience.

There’s a resounding cheer from the crowd as they kiss, and Shiro can taste the drying tears at the corners of Lance’s mouth. A growl escapes him as it settles; Lance was his, for all of them to see.

He doesn’t care if it’s impolite, a poor display for a crown prince; sweeping Lance off his feet, he gathers his dear mate to his chest, blood burning with excitement and impending rut. As beautiful as his omega looked in the dress, Shiro was ready to see him out of it, carrying him up the stairs to his- _their_ bedroom, laying him down on the covers, freeing himself of the decorative armour to finally, _finally_ take his lover in his bare arms, kissing and licking his face clean of tears.

The reception would start after they were done, after Lance finally bore his mark.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> yanderayy.tumblr.com
> 
> all kudos and comments are appreciated :)


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